𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐓𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒 and Doctor Baizhu handles business as usual. He speaks to the stallkeeper—the same assortment of herbs and goods as always, he asks—and the stallkeeper prepares his request over small conversation, bundles of greenery laid over the bottom of a paper bag like tile. It's all part of his routine, the schedule that keeps the cogs in the pharmacy's operations turning, and Baizhu thrives in its reprieve. Breathing room in his busy lifestyle that he doesn't take for granted.
As he's handed his goods, he bids the stall-keeper farewell. 'Til next week, he says, thanking him with a warm and friendly smile. And the man laughs, tells him to take care and not work too hard.
Baizhu takes his leave—or he would, but it appears Changsheng has an admirer. Such an occurrence isn't unusual; he chuckles as she tucks his snout between the folds of her body, amused by her stubborn shyness.
❝ I see you've taken a shine to Changsheng, ❞ the doctor observes, his golden eyes fondly resting on the young man's intrigue. ❝ She's not usually so shy. ❞
